Always (28 page)

“It is not
me
he wishes to gore, my lord,” Rosamunde pointed out.

“She does appear to be right, my lord,” Bull's owner, Tomkins, muttered anxiously. “He appears comfortable with her. She seems safe enough—and she's coming out
now,
aren't ye, m'lady?” he called. No doubt he was hoping she would get the hell out of there before the bull did gore her. That would see the man in a potful of trouble!

“Aye, I am coming,” she assured them, digging the last apple out of her pocket and holding it out. She had originally brought four. Bull must have managed to get one out while she was unconscious. Patting the brute's neck, she bent to touch his lower leg as he munched contentedly, and Bull cooperated by bending his leg for her to peer at his wound. A quick glance was all she needed to tell her that he appeared fully recovered.

“Wife!”

Apparently Aric was too impatient to bother with her name anymore, she thought with some amusement, straightening and giving Bull another pat before turning to make her way to the fence. It was a good six feet away. Though it was not far, it seemed quite a distance at that moment. Grasping the fence when she reached it, she paused, trying to find the energy to climb. Much to her relief, she didn't have to. As soon as she stopped, Aric leaped up the fence, leaned over, grasped her by the waist, and lifted her out of the paddock.

But he'd not set her down for more than a second
before he swept her back up into his arms, this time with one arm under her legs, and one at her back. Holding her close to his chest, Aric then pushed his way through the crowd that had gathered and started back to the keep.

He did not say a word all the way home, and Rosamunde was content to leave it so. She didn't feel much like talking herself. In fact, she felt that if she opened her mouth, she might be ill all over him. Really, she was quite nauseated. Her head was still spinning and throbbing, and the world didn't seem to wish to stay steady around her. It was wavering and blurring and zooming near, then far away. Sighing, she squeezed her eyes closed against the increased throbbing in her brain as he jogged up the stairs with her.

“Aric? My God! What happened?”

Blinking her eyes open, Rosamunde turned her head to see Robert Shambley's image wavering in the open door of the keep. When Aric reached the top of the stairs without answering, Robert stepped out of the way, holding the door open.

Muttering his thanks, Aric crossed the hall toward the stairs, ignoring the alarmed questions from his father as the man stood up from his seat at the trestle table, where he had apparently been enjoying a discussion with Lord Spencer.

Rosamunde tightened her arms around his neck and clenched her teeth as he bounced her up this second set of steps, relieved when they reached the hall and the ride became smoother. He walked straight to their room and carried her inside and to the bed where he set her down. Then, before she could quite catch her breath, he began undressing her with quick, efficient motions. There was nothing sexual to his actions, however, and she felt rather like a child under his ministrations. It was something she had never felt like around her husband, especially in their bedchamber—while naked.

Once he had dropped the last item of her clothing to
the floor, he stepped back, running his eyes quickly over her body. Seemingly satisfied, he turned her around and presumably made the same inspection from behind.

Clearing her throat, Rosamunde asked uncertainly, “Husband? What are you doing?”

The question had barely left her lips when she felt his hands slide under her hair at the base of her neck and begin to move gently up over her scalp. In the next moment, she was gasping and wincing as he found the knot on the back of her head.

Cursing under his breath, Aric caught her by the shoulders and turned her to face him. “What happened?”

Knowing she was about to get a lecture—and one she might even deserve, considering the outcome of her rebellious activities of the day—Rosamunde grimaced and sighed. “I went down to check on Bull—”

“Alone!” Aric said, glaring at her. “Sneaking off while Smithy's back was turned, like a child evading her nurse.”

“Ah. Well, aye, I guess—” she began tentatively, only to have him interrupt.

“What happened?”

Clearing her throat again, she continued, “I got to the paddock and Tomkins was nowhere in sight. I considered searching him out, then decided that I would look for him after I checked Bull's foot.” Seeing his mounting impatience, Rosamunde began to speak a little faster. “So I climbed up on the fence and tried to lure Bull with an apple, but he was acting odd.”

Aric stiffened, seeming surprised at this bit of information. “Do you mean to say that Bull attacked you?”

“Oh, nay,” she assured him quickly. “Bull did not attack me. He just would not come any closer. He just…well, at first he seemed interested, but then he started acting all cranky, snorting and pawing the ground. Then I thought I heard a sound behind me, started to turn and…” She shrugged helplessly before admitting
unhappily, “The next thing I knew I was waking up in the paddock and you were shouting my name.”

Crossing her arms over her naked chest, she peered down at her feet and shifted uncomfortably in the silence that followed. “How did you come to be there?”

Venturing a glance upward, she saw him glare at her. “I went to the stables to collect Black. Smithy was still saddling him, and you were nowhere to be seen. When I asked where you had gotten to, he said that he was supposed to go with you to check on the bull when he finished saddling Black. He'd thought mayhap you had gone to the keep to fetch some apples for the beast. But Shrewsbury entered the stables then and said he had just come from the keep, and that you had not been there. When we saw that the bag you carry around when you tend to ill or injured animals was missing, we knew where you had gone.”

“Oh.” Shifting uncomfortably, she glanced around, then murmured, “Do you think I might get dressed again, my lord?”

Aric blinked as if just realizing that he had left her naked through this discussion, then sighed and leaned past her to pull the linens back on the bed. “Nay. You cannot get dressed again. You can get into bed and rest.”

“Oh, but—”

“In bed,” Aric snapped. “Do not try my patience, wife. I am already angry at you right now for going off on your own when you
know
I wish you to be accompanied at all times—”

“I am sorry, my lord,” Rosamunde interrupted quickly, sitting on the edge of the bed to appease him. “But truly I did not think there was anything to fear. I felt sure that night was just a robbery gone awry. And nothing has happened this last week—”

“Nothing happened this last week because someone has been watching you every moment,” Aric interrupted. Rosamunde looked stricken.

“Surely you do not think…I mean…” She shook her head in bewilderment. “But why would anyone wish to harm me? I have done nothing to anyone.”

Seeing her dismay, Aric sighed and sank onto the bed beside her. Wrapping an arm around her shoulders, he drew her against his chest. “The night your father came to collect me and take me to marry you, he said he would worry for your safety should anything happen to him.” He sighed unhappily. “I half suspect he knew death was stalking him. And he wanted you safe. He felt I could protect you.”

“But from what?” Rosamunde asked in bewilderment, pulling back to peer at him.

“I do not know,” he admitted, pulling her back against his chest. “He spoke of your mother.”

“My mother?”

“Aye. He said he felt sure she was murdered.”

Rosamunde tugged away from him again to stare at him in horror. “What? Nay! She died at the abbey. She—”

“He suspected poisoning.”

Rosamunde had been pale since he had come upon her lying unconscious in the paddock, but she went white at this news. “Poisoned?”

Aric nodded.

“My mother?” she asked painfully. He felt his heart pinch at her horror.

“Aye.”

She was silent for a moment, absorbing this; then she peered at him again. “And he thinks whoever did it may try to kill me, too?”

Aric scowled at the question. “I am not sure. He was not very specific, unfortunately. I just know he worried about your well-being should he die. And now, with these two attacks, I fear this is what he was afraid of.”

“But my mother…Who did he think poisoned her?”

Aric grimaced. “Eleanor.”

Rosamunde's eyes widened briefly; then she nodded slowly. “Aye, I suppose she would be the most likely suspect. She may have feared my father might annul their marriage to be with my mother.”

Aric nodded thoughtfully.

“But I do not see why she would wish to harm
me
. I am no threat to her position.”

“Nay,” Aric agreed. “I do not understand it, either.” They were both silent for a moment; then Aric shifted on the bed until he faced her and took her hands in his. “Rosamunde, you cannot run off on your own like that again. When I saw you lying in that paddock…” His hands tightened on hers briefly; then he glanced away. When he turned back, his grumpy expression had returned. “You vowed to obey me, and I am ordering you not to go anywhere alone. Now.” Getting to his feet, he gestured to the bed. “Rest. I must go and see if anyone saw anything. Not that anyone probably did,” he muttered irritably as he moved to the door.

Humming under her breath, Rosamunde straightened from examining the pregnant mare in the stall across from Black's and patted the horse soothingly. “Everything seems all right, Charlotte. I'd say another day or so and you should drop your foal. You must be looking forward to that, hmmm?” she cooed walking to the front of the mare to caress her snout.

When her husband's horse shifted restlessly and let out a whinny from the next stall, Rosamunde glanced toward him reprovingly. “What is the matter, Blackie? Surely you are not jealous? You know I love you, too.”

Black shifted again, this time shaking his head around angrily, and Rosamunde frowned slightly. She stepped out of Charlotte's stall. “What is the matter with you? You are not ailing again, are you?” she asked, moving toward his stall. She had taken only a step or two when the creak of lumber from the loft overhead drew her gaze upward. It took a moment for her mind to grasp what she saw: a
bale of hay suspended in the air above her head! Nay. Not suspended. Falling. A bale of hay falling toward her!

Crying out, Rosamunde lunged out of the way. She slammed hard into Black's stall as the bale slammed to the floor beside her, sending straw and dust flying in all directions as its straps broke. The hay spilled out across the floor, making a small hill. Shaking slightly, Rosamunde gaped at the bale blankly for a moment, then peered upward again, staring at the loft above. Surely it could not have just fallen down by itself? Surely the men stacked the hay up there better than that?

Then again, if it had not just fallen off…Her mind refused to process any more than that. Swallowing, Rosamunde patted absently at Black's nose and drew comfort as he leaned his head over her shoulder. The horse was completely calm now, and she had to wonder if the source of his agitation had not come from his sensing of some danger. Mayhap he had noticed the bale hanging over the edge or—

“Well, now you are really getting a bit silly,” she told herself dryly. Black was a pretty smart animal, but her proposition was a bit of a stretch. Sighing, she patted Black one more time, then moved away from the stall, glancing up warily as she did. The bale had to have simply fallen, of course. It was a straightforward enough explanation. Accidents happened, and this had been one. And any thought that this might be anything else was just Rosamunde letting her imagination run away with her.

“Then you should really go up there and be sure the rest of the bales are more safely stacked,” she told herself, reassured by the sound of her own voice. Straightening her shoulders slightly, she moved to the ladder and glanced up, pausing as Blackie became agitated again and kicked the door of his stall. “Stop that,” she ordered him shortly. “You are as bad as your master. There is nothing up there.”

Still, she hesitated. Not because she feared that the
bale had not simply fallen and that someone up there had pushed it off, she assured herself, but because…well, she was wearing a gown. She had been wearing more proper attire ever since Aric had complained, and while they were not as convenient as brais, her gowns had not gotten in her way too much.

Still, they did restrict certain things, like climbing up into the loft. Should anyone enter and come to the ladder, no doubt they would have a lovely view up her skirt. Rosamunde grimaced at that. Were Smithy not busy outside, she would have left the checking of the loft up to him. But he was presently hitching Lord Spencer's wagon to a horse out front. That left Rosamunde alone to climb up into the loft and look around. And there was really no sense in stalling any longer, she told herself firmly.

She needed to prove to herself that her husband's fears were all for naught; otherwise she would spend her life looking over her shoulder. And she wasn't going to do that. She started to climb.

 

“My lord.”

Pausing beside the wagon Smithy was working on, Aric nodded at the other man. “Is my wife—”

“Inside, my lord,” the stablemaster told him, nodding toward the door at his back. “Giving Charlotte the once-over.”

Aric's eyebrows arched. “Charlotte?”

“A mare, my lord. She used to be named White, but—”

“But my wife insists on giving every animal a ‘proper' name,” Aric interrupted.

The man grinned ruefully and nodded. “That's so, my lord.”

Shaking his head, Aric turned away and entered the stables, his eyes moving from side to side searching for his wife. He started up the aisle. When he reached Black's stall—the last there was—and still had found no
sign of his wife, Aric scowled and turned back. “Smithy?” he called.

“Oh, hello, husband.”

Whirling back, Aric glanced around, then up, his angry expression easing somewhat as he spotted his wife perched halfway up the ladder to the hay loft. Moving to its base, he glanced up, his eyes widening when he found himself staring straight up her skirts. “What the devil are you doing? Get down from there this instant!”

“My lord?” Smithy's voice echoed down the stalls. The man had come running at the shout of his name.

“I—Nothing. Get out of here,” Aric ordered. “And close the damn door. Let no one in until I say so. I want a word with my wife.”

“Aye, my lord.” The doors closed quietly, leaving the stables dim and cool.

“Is there something amiss, my lord?” Rosamunde peered down at him anxiously.

His gaze slid from her face to the view he had up her skirt, then back. Aric frowned slightly. “I can see right up your skirt.” He had meant to order her to get down off that ladder again, but his comment had the same effect. Flushing bright red, she immediately began backing down the ladder. Her downward steps faltered, however, when she felt his hands slide under her skirts up the back of her calves.

Her fingers clenching around the ladder rails, Rosamunde glanced down sharply—blinking and flushing even redder as she saw that as she had descended, her skirt had lowered over her husband's head. Or had he stuck his head underneath? Whichever the case, he now stood beneath her; his face was somewhere around the backs of her ankles, she would guess from the feel of his breath there, and—Oh, yes, her guess was correct, she realized as he suddenly licked the inside of one of her ankles. She gasped, fingers tightening even further around the ladder rails, Rosamunde leaned her forehead
against the rung before her face. She closed her eyes briefly as he began to lave the inside of her other ankle. Her body's reaction was startling, to say the least. He was licking her ankles, for gosh sakes! And yet she was getting tingles shooting up her legs, making them so weak she wasn't sure they would continue to hold her up.

“H-husband?” she murmured.

“I said, get down here,” Aric reminded her huskily, his voice muffled by her skirts.

Taking a deep breath, Rosamunde forced herself to open her eyes and step down another hesitant step, her stomach jumping and her flesh singing as his hands and lips slid slowly up her legs. When she stopped again, his mouth was nibbling at the back of one knee, his fingers trailing over the backs of her thighs, nearly at her buttocks. They slid back down along the inside of her thighs, and ran lightly over the tender flesh there, and Rosamunde grasped the ladder tightly and closed her eyes again. Her legs were shaking violently now. Surely he must see that. “Husband?”

She felt cool air hit the back of her legs as he lifted her skirt to free his head, then the garment fell back into place and he raised her up and set her down upon her feet. She was facing away from him. “You are not to climb that ladder again.”

Rosamunde nodded in understanding, but he did not release her and step away, as she had expected. Instead his hands moved to clasp the ladder before her, encompassing her in the cocoon of his body as he leaned forward. Nuzzling the side of her head, he found her ear with his lips. “Do you understand?”

“A-aye,” Rosamunde murmured breathlessly as he began to nibble at the lobe of her ear, his body pressing against her from behind. “I am not to climb the ladder again.”

“You smell so sweet,” he whispered, and Rosamunde tipped her head to the side, her hands closing over his on
the ladder as he kissed and nibbled her neck. “You taste sweet, too,” he whispered, licking her neck teasingly, his hands slipping out from beneath hers. They moved to catch her upper arms, pulling her back against him, then slid around the front of her to capture her breasts, to hold and palm and caress them through her clothing. “Turn your head more. Give me your lips.”

Doing as he said, Rosamunde turned and tilted her head, her mouth opening eagerly under his. He found and devoured her lips and tongue hungrily, catching her groan as he pinched her hardened nipples through the cloth of her gown. She was desolate when his hands left her breasts.

She gasped into his mouth, her kiss becoming more frantic as his hand brushed down over her stomach until it found and grazed the apex of her thighs. He urged her backward with that touch until her bottom nudged his front, and Rosamunde was so distracted, she did not notice how he worked at her lacing with his other hand, until she felt his rough fingers suddenly catch and caress one naked breast.

Stiffening, she pulled her lips free and glanced down at herself, shocked to see her bodice gaping open and her breasts spilling out, one naked in the dim light of the stables and the other covered only by his hand. His other hand had slid from between her legs and was drawing her skirt up, baring her calves.

“Husband?” She grabbed at the hand tugging her gown upward in a feeble attempt to stop its actions. “Husband, stop!” she cried with dismay. “We are in the stables. Someone could enter at any—” She choked on the last word, stiffening against him as he finally got her skirt high enough to snake his hand beneath it. Nudging a knee between hers from behind, he urged her legs apart to allow his fingers to slide up her inner thigh to the center of her.

“No one is going to enter. Smithy will not allow anyone in here until I say so,” he assured her quietly.

“Aye, but 'tis full daylight,” she pointed out weakly, arching into his touch despite her protests.

“So?” He laughed breathlessly into her ear, pressing himself against her bottom even as she arched back into him.

Rosamunde hesitated, then blurted, “Bishop Shrewsbury said 'twas a sin in the Church's eyes to conduct marital relations in full day—”

A muttered curse from Aric, and the way he stopped all caresses and seemed to freeze behind her, made her pause and bite her lip unhappily. Then she heard him release a pent-up breath against her neck.

“Wife.”

“Aye?” she asked uncertainly.

“We have already been through all of this,” he reminded her gently, the hand at her breast beginning to caress her again.

“We have?” she asked uncertainly, closing her eyes as he pressed a kiss to the crook of her neck.

“Aye. During the wedding ceremony you vowed to obey me. A vow you made before God, your father, and witnesses. Did you not?”

Eyes closing as her nipple tightened beneath his touch, Rosamunde nodded silently.

“Well.” Releasing her abruptly, he caught her up in his arms. Carrying her to the small mound of hay in front of Black's stall, he laid her upon it, then straightened to peer down at her as he quickly removed his sword belt and set it on the ground. “I say that we are going to make love in full daylight in the stables, and I order…” Dropping to his knees in the straw, he urged her legs apart and eased between them, then lowered himself to cover her lower body with his. His stomach resting on her pelvis, he peered down at her breasts where they lay at face level,
and collected them in his hands before bending his mouth to kiss one rosy peak.

“And I order you to enjoy it,” he finished against her flesh before sucking it into his mouth to swirl with his tongue. He watched her face as he did this, taking in the way her mouth opened and her eyes closed; then he withdrew his mouth and waited for her eyes to slowly open. “What say you to that, wife?”

Swallowing the smile that wanted to curve her lips at his pleased grin, Rosamunde nodded with credible solemnity and murmured, “As you wish, my lord.”

Chuckling, Aric climbed farther up her body until he reached her lips, then kissed her with a passion that curled her toes inside her sandals. Slipping her arms around his neck, she kissed him back just as passionately. At last, he pulled his lips away with a gasp and rested his forehead on hers. Eyes closed, he tried to catch his breath, then shook his head and opened his eyes.

“I need you.”

Rosamunde's eyes widened slightly at the words. He said it apologetically and so seriously. Slipping a hand between them, she found the top of his brais and slid her hand inside. His desire was big and hard against her fingers.

“Aye, you do,” she murmured solemnly and he gave a short laugh, his eyes squeezing shut as her fingers closed around him and squeezed. He caught her hand, then tugged it out of the way and quickly pulled his brais down in the front. Tugging her skirt out of the way then, he slid a hand up her thighs, relieved to find her warm and wet for him.

“I am sorry. I cannot wait,” he said with a gasp, guiding himself into her.

Rosamunde made no protest, shifting and arching slightly to accept him, then wrapping her legs around his hips and pulling him closer, driving him deeper inside.
Finally he was all the way in. Then she reached up to caress his cheek, drawing his gaze and his attention to her.

“Tell me what to do to pleasure you,” she whispered.

Except for their first time together, he had always kissed and caressed her to the point of such feverish desire that by the time he entered her, she simply arched and thrust blindly beneath him. She had reacted and responded to his body and touch. This time there was more. Now she wanted to pleasure him, to feed his hunger.

Aric stilled at her expression, his heart fluttering. She wished to please him. She was interested in sharing this experience, both taking and giving. Delia would never have done so. Oh, aye, Delia had enjoyed sex—he'd known that long ere he had caught her in bed with another. But she had been a demanding and shrewish lover—and despite his attention to her pleasure, she had never once seemed to consider his.